


Knight in Scarlet Armor

by SSAerial



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, Bilbo is So Done, Events are tweaked to my liking, Gen, Past Events, Smaug has been through a hell lot and his actions are explained, Smaug's background, Thorin finds out the truth, consequences of gold sickness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSAerial/pseuds/SSAerial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The arkenstone was a kaleidoscope of light, a buzzing energy warming Bard’s chest before what looked like a shooting star burst out into the sky, sailing towards the dragon’s corpse that was sinking with Laketown. The beast twitched, shuddered, before revealing one great eye that was the color of molten sun. Only one goal was fixated in his mind. Protect the Durin line at any cost.</p><p>Oh, he had some wrongs he had to correct. But whether he would even have the opportunity to explain himself later was unimportant at the moment. All that mattered, was the war he could hear even from all the way here. So with great strength, he ruptured out of the waters with a mighty roar and flew towards death.</p><p>(Where Smaug isn’t actually a bad guy and has A LOT of explaining to do to a lot of people. That is, if Thorin doesn’t kill him off first.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, well, I’ve been obsessed with the Hobbit lately. So much, in fact, that I’m braving this story online. It’s going to explain Smaug’s past and also a lot of made-up dragon culture and background and abilities in this story. Also, the arkenstone is not what it seems at all (and no, it’s not a dragon egg, it’ll be way to cliché if it were) and I tweaked Thror’s past a lot too. So yeah, purists out there, please don’t kill me. It’s all my own ideas and I know that almost 95% percent of the information I’m going to write here isn’t true. So get off your high horses. And don’t assassinate me at night. Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

* * *

 

Bilbo slid down the mountains of gold with a thumping, panicking heart as he ran for his life away from the fire-breathing dragon who seemed determined to pursue after him.

Oh curse his luck to have awoken the beast!

He didn’t even bother to put on the ring now since the blasted lizard would be able to sniff him out anyways. And while it may cost him a few extra seconds of time, his eyes were still relentlessly tracking after the glittering stone that was tumbling away from him, sparklingly tauntingly at him to complete his mission before _getting the hell out of there._

So he chased and chased before finally reaching sanctuary under some sturdy, stone structures that covered him overhead. With his small size, he easily hid behind a column.

The dragon mocked and slithered out whispering fears into Bilbo’s mind as he tried to reach for the stone, making his heart twinge and his head shake in denial because really? Thorin would never use him like that, never.

_But what if he is? It makes sense, doesn’t it?_

Shut up, shut up!

He buried down the treacherous voice, though it didn’t disappear. It only seemed to grow.

Bilbo was thrown out of these thoughts quite quickly when he was suddenly flung into the air by Smaug’s motions and bumped into a column with a great ‘oof!’

Smaug kept up his monologue and then Bilbo saw it.

A small opening, a scale missing.

_A weakness._

“So it is true.” The hobbit whispered out loud absentmindedly, numb from this great reveal. “The black arrow found its mark.”

“ _What_ did you say?” Smuag hissed, swiveling his head around to face him with such speed that Bilbo jumped at the action. Scrambling upright, thoughts still overworking itself, his Baggins mannerisms kicked in just in time.

“I-I-I was just saying, your reputation precedes you, oh Smaug the... tyrannical.” He stuttered out, watching with wide eyes as Smaug stalked closer to him, eyes menacing.

Stepping back more and more to get away from such a fierce gaze, Bilbo continued on with a fervent tone. “Truly, you have no equal, on this Earth.” He gestured to the ground for emphasis and immediately stopped his actions all together because right there, right next to him, was the arkenstone.

And that, was when things started to get strange.

Bilbo had expected more jeering, more eloquent poisonous words jabbing at Thorin that made Bilbo’s doubts and hackles rise.

Instead, what he got was much, much more terrifying.

Smaug’s golden eyes narrowed with such rage, such absolute derision that Bilbo froze in fear at the face of it.

“ _You._ ” The Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities snarled out, hatred practically dripping his tone. “After I deal with this Riddle-maker and those dwarves, _you_ will be next. I will savor the feeling of getting rid of you for last.”

It took Bilbo a couple of seconds to realize that Smaug wasn’t directing this at him, but the _arkenstone_.

Confusion didn’t even begin to cover what he felt at that moment. At the back of his mind, Bilbo wondered if all this gold had addled the dragon’s brain because talking to a stone, while a very pretty one at that he supposed but still just a piece of rock really, was complete and utter nonsense.

All this ran through his head before Smaug turned back to look at him, teeth glinting and sharp as knives.

“I think our little game has to end here. So tell me, thief, how do you choose to _die_?”

Smaug opened up his great jaws to swallow him whole, and Bilbo didn’t even think when he jabbed the ring onto his finger before disappearing from sight. Swiftly, he picked up the stone and bolted away from the clearly mad dragon.

He was oblivious to the fact that the arkenstone was actually quite warm to the touch, something humming and stirring within the stone.

Something almost... _alive_.

**-A-**

Bilbo fingered the arkenstone in his hands, pondering over choices and troubled thoughts as he did so.

It’s been a few days since the Company saw that Smaug the Dragon was dead, shot down and falling on Laketown with a great splash. The worry that the men may have not gotten out alive from the fire and fall made guilt curl around his heart, along with the fact he lied to Thorin about not having the arkenstone.

But he didn’t regret it. Thorin’s wild and hungry eyes still haunted Bilbo even in his dreams.

This wasn’t the dwarf he first met at Bag Ends, all those months ago. The person standing in front of him wasn’t his friend, but a twisted, mad version to the real thing.

And that scared Bilbo more than he cared to admit.

Sighing, feeling weary and conflicted, his eyes focused on the dazzling stone in his hands. Now that he had the time to inspect it closely, he couldn’t help but admire the otherworldly quality the arkenstone possessed. He could see why the dwarves made the stone their symbol. There’s just something about it that inspired something deep within his heart.

Not greed, no. Something much more profound and noble.

Bitterly, he wished that the stone could bring out the real Thorin out of his imposter but already knew that it would only make the king’s gold-sickness worse.

Maybe the stone brought out different qualities in different people? By this point in his journey, Bilbo was just about ready to believe anything.

Mind drifting now, he wondered about Smaug’s rather odd reaction to the stone. He talked to it as if it was a person, something sentient. He had passed it off as madness but maybe he was wrong. Maybe there was more to the arkenstone than meets the eye.

Bilbo shook his head. Well, it doesn’t really matter. Right now, he had an impending war to worry about between the elves, men, and dwarves, and sitting around doing nothing wasn’t going to change anything.

At this thought, a terrible idea struck Bilbo. It was treasonous, precarious.

It was the only plan he could think of.

Back straightening in steely determination, he pocketed the stone in his jacket and marched back inside to get prepared.

It was a long climb down the mountain and he didn’t want to die from the fall before meeting up with Thranduil and Bard.

**-A-**

Hours later when it was well past evening, Bilbo found himself pinned in place by Thranduil’s glacier stare, the meeting taking place within the confines of the tent.

“If I am not mistaken, this is the halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.” Thranduil said coolly.

Bilbo shifted his gaze to the side, finding the ground to be very interesting.

“... Yes.” He mumbled out. “Sorry about that.”

Bilbo could swear he saw the man Bard’s mouth twitch upward at his answer.

Shaking his head at this, Bilbo marched determinedly toward the sole table in the room and took out the wrapped up arkenstone before placing it carefully down on the flat surface. Wanting to get his business over with, Bilbo quickly unwrapped the cloth as he said, “I came to give you this.”

Thranduil’s astonished face as he stood up from his chair when he saw the arkenstone almost made the entire trek from coming down the mountain entirely worth it.

“The heart of the mountain.” The elvenking breathed out. “The king’s jewel.”

“And worth a king’s ransom.” Bard added, coming closer to examine the fabled stone with wonder. Turning to Bilbo, the grim man gave the hobbit a frown. “How is this yours to give?”

“I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.” Bilbo replied promptly, enticing a smirk from Gandalf.

Bard shook his head.

“Why would you do this? You owe us no loyalty.”

“I’m not doing it for you.” Bilbo contradicted him, smiling wryly when confusion met his words.

“I know dwarves can be obstinate. And pigheaded and difficult... and suspicious and secretive, with the worst manners you can possibly imagine.” He looked to Gandalf at the last one, whose eyes twinkled in mirth and agreement. Breathing out, Bilbo continued, voice halting now.

“But they are also brave, and kind, and loyal to a fault.” Bilbo said quietly, for there were no truer words than what he just spoke. He looked up again, his eyes earnest, at the two taller beings who were watching him closely. “I've grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can. Now Thorin,” he gestured to the stone, “values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return, I believe he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war.”

Bard and Thranduil shared a look as Gandalf pondered over this solution. Bilbo was a nervous wreck by the time Thranduil finally nodded, sending relief to Bilbo’s poor heart.

“The terms you have set are acceptable.” The elvenking said smoothly.

Bilbo let out a sigh of utter relief at this, shoulders drooping in exhaustion now that his task was complete.

Bilbo watched Bard as he pocketed the arkenstone the same way he himself had and suddenly felt an inexplicable, protective urge to take back the stone. It was startling and made Bilbo halt in his tracks, along with a large amount of dread.

Was the stone affecting him? Was it turning him into Thorin?

Inspecting his own feelings for a moment, ignoring Bard, Thranduil, and Gandalf’s looks, he was relieved to find that wasn’t the case.

No. He just must be nervous about this whole endeavor along with its costs. Yes, that made a lot more sense.

“Bilbo?” Gandalf questioned, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry about me Gandalf.” Bilbo waved him away with impatience. “I just hope that this works.”

The wizard’s eyes softened with understanding and at the back, Bilbo can identify sympathy from Bard’s eyes. The man clearly understood just how much the hobbit was endangering himself with his traitorous actions. Thranduil remained aloof, face remaining unemotional and collected.

Scuffling his feet, Bilbo managed a smile and gestured to outside.

“Well, I better get back to the mountain before anyone misses me-”

“What?” Bard blurted out, immediately alarmed. Gandalf straightened as well. “You can’t go back there. Thorin will kill you when he finds out.”

“He won’t.” Bilbo said firmly, completely convinced of this. “I have to be there to take blame for my own actions. I may be a thief, but I’d like to think I’m an honest one. I won’t hide and escape the consequences.”

Gandalf sagged at his words, pride and worry battling in his eyes. Bard stared at him, respectful and solemn. Thranduil didn’t seem to care, not that Bilbo’s surprised.

So with a last smile and a deep breathe, the hobbit left the tent and headed straight back for Erebor.

**-A-**

The battle was raging on strong and Bilbo had just about enough of blood and gore for the rest of his hobbit lifetime. Slashing and killing orc after orc like never before, he focused on his current problems instead of his breaking heart.

_(Thorin’s crazed eyes dark as midnight boring at him as he strangled him over the fort, calling him traitor and cursing his name even more vehemently than he did with Azog’s.)_

And suddenly, in his line of vision, he saw something that didn’t make _any sense whatsoever._

Something like a shooting star, brilliant and blinding and startling even the orcs to stop in their tracks at its sudden appearance, soared through the sky from Dale of all places before speeding away from the battlefield to who knows where.

He was distracted though from his stupefaction when Thorin and the Company burst out of the once blocked entrance of Erebor, ringing battle cries trumpeting their arrival. Even from here, Bilbo could see the focus and clarity in Thorin’s piercing blue gaze, sickness gone.

Bilbo couldn’t help but grin and laugh helplessly at this, spirits uplifting tenfold along with his strength. With renewed vigor, he let out a cry himself and attacked the orcs with ferocity he hadn’t even known he was capable of.

Elsewhere, Bard was watching with bulging eyes as the light that had burst out of the pocketed arkenstone fly away, dumbstruck by the sight.

Was this normal? That couldn’t have been normal, no matter how limited his knowledge was on the arkenstone.

But at the moment, he had other pressing matters to attend to. Mouth set in a stern line, Bard barked out orders to his dazed, small army who snapped back into attention at the sound of his harsh voice. Like sheep, the mismatched armed crowd followed after their leader, ready to defend their loved ones to the death.

And while the war continued on, nobody had been able to discern from so far away how the radiant light found its way to the sinking Smaug’s body, wrapping itself around the dragon with a luminous glow. The light was like a mist, hovering over Smaug’s open mouth and nostrils as if being sucked into the drake’s openings.

And when the last light died out to settle over the open wound that had killed the beast, Smaug’s eyes opened, revealing a molten color of the sun.

And with no hesitation, Smaug ruptured himself out of the waters quite like how he did with the golden trap Thorin had set on him merely days ago, and sailed into battle.

On his giant chest, the wound began to bleed anew, the only sign of vulnerability seen on the mighty creature.

The injury, however, didn’t seem to hinder Smaug as he cruised toward the front line of battle, a bellowing roar a deaf man could hear resounding loud and clear into the sky.

Smaug the Terrible, it seems, has returned.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, on with the story! And thank you to all who support this story! Also, this is NOT a crossover to Sherlock BBC. And Smaug’s personality is quite different, though his sarcasm hasn’t changed.

Bilbo nearly gave himself a whiplash when he heard the all too familiar sound of a dragon's roar –  _which should be impossible because Smaug fell and sank, he saw it with his own eyes_  – bellowing over the abruptly silent battlefield.

And as if to prove him wrong, Smaug came into view over the armies like a harbinger of death, magnificent and terrifying all at the same time. His large body covered the sun, creating a shadow that overlapped everything underneath.

Men, elves, dwarves, and even orcs alike were staring confounded at the unexplainable sight with mixed reactions ranging from absolute bafflement to petrifying horror.

At the moment, Bilbo was leaning more towards the latter.

And then, just when the situation couldn't get any more confusing, it did.

For when Smaug landed on the ground, stepping on countless of orcs as he did so, he  _turned his back_  away from the dwarves and let out a razing inferno in his wake directed  _at the orcs,_  killing off hundreds just by doing so.

Bilbo's jaw dropped.

He wasn't the only one.

The dwarves could only watch, speechless at the surreal scene, as orc screams filled the air, rotten flesh scorching off their misshapen bodies before agonizing death befell on them. The elves who weren't currently in Dale for once weren't so expressionless and looked ready to question the very existence of Valar itself.

The hobbit couldn't really blame them. He was pretty much doing the same.

Seeing how everybody seemed to have lost their senses, Bilbo turned to the only one who could maybe, possibly, explain the impossible happenance before them.

"Gandalf,  _what_  in  _tarnations_ is  _going on_?!" Bilbo snapped at the wizard, all hobbit etiquacy flying right out the window. Considering they were in the middle of a bloody war, this can be excused.

Gandalf, who was staring speculatively at Smaug as if the dragon was some great puzzle, slowly shook his head with a deep set frown.

"I... do not know."

Well,  _that's_  never a good sign.

The dwarves and elves, once they realized that Smaug was focusing on destroying the orc army and not them, shook off their shock well enough and charged with new vigor toward the very much helpless orcs. Just when the odds were against them, Smaug seemed to have turned the tide, a mind-boggling thought in itself.

With the orcs rushing back at them, Bilbo found himself fending for his life again. That is, until Gandalf grabbed ahold of his tattered blue coat's shoulder and jerked a nod toward Dale.

"We must reach Dale! I must speak to Thranduil!"

Bilbo gave a curt nod of understanding at this and followed Gandalf through the battlefield, slicing and dicing whatever orc came his way.

It took them a while, but they finally reached the rubbles of Dale just in time to be met unexpectedly with the elven prince Legolas and the she-elf who always seemed to be at the prince's heels.

Unfortunately, the elf brought ill news.

"There is a second army coming. Bolg leads a force of Gundabad orcs. They are almost upon us." Legolas the elf warns stonily, the she-elf standing guard close behind.

"Gundabad?" Gandalf's countenance turned grim, his shrewd eyes under his large pointy hat gleaming dangerously. "This was their plan all along. Azog engages our forces then Bolg sweeps in from the North."

"The North?" Bilbo splutters out, circling around with some exasperation. "Where is the north exactly?"

Gandalf's mouth was a taut line, expression tight.

"Ravenhill."

Bilbo's panic went up a hundred notches at this.

Well  _buggers_.

"Ravenhill." He repeated under his breathe, worry twisting his stomach and making him sick. "Thorin is up there. And Fíli and Kíli, they're all up there!"

Gandalf's jaw clenched at this before immediately turning away with the whish of his grey cloak, footsteps determined. Bilbo followed close behind, not wanting to get left behind.

Both found themselves running into the elvenking who actually looked shaken and bloody, so unlike his usually pristine appearance.

Hope flared and died a quick death when Thranduil yet again refused to help the dwarves, face cold and resolute before he took his leave.

Bilbo cursed with everything he could think of.

Gandalf wasn't all-knowing, a dragon was on the loose, and Thranduil was once again leaving the dwarves to their fate.

Things couldn't possibly get any worse.

And right at that moment, as if just to spite him,  _of course_  the world just  _had_  to prove him wrong.

Because the second this thought flitted across his mind, Smaug turned his snake-like neck towards the north before letting out an ear-splitting roar. With one great flap of his wings, Smaug flew into the sky with his attention fixated on Ravenhill, intention clear.

Bilbo's panic rocketed when realization struck him with a horrified start that Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin were alone and out of his reach and the fire-drake was  _headed straight towards them._

It didn't matter that Smaug, for whatever mystifying reason, was helping the dwarves. Maybe he just hated orcs more, who knows. All Bilbo could remember with absolute certainty was how derisively Smaug spoke of Thorin, contempt and malice in his scrutiny.

Left with little choice, Bilbo spoke up above the wild thumping in his chest.

"I'll go."

Gandalf looked to him at the sound of his voice before shaking his head.

"Don't be ridiculous." Gandalf immediately responded. "You'll never make it-"

" _Gandalf_. For once in your bloody life,  _don't argue with me._ " Bilbo interrupted rather rudely. If he was himself right now, he probably would've been aghast at himself. Too much time spending with dwarves, definitely. "Thorin and everyone is up there, in danger from Azog  _and_ Smaug. They probably know about Smaug about now, he's kind of hard to miss, but what they don't know is that they're in the middle of a trap. I will not allow them to die. Not when there's something I can do about it."

Gandalf gave him a long look, whole body slumping in resignation and sadness. Underneath it all, however, Bilbo could make out fierce fondness and pride in the wizard's eyes.

"The courage of hobbits." The wizard murmurs more to himself with the shake of a head. Nodding sagely, Gandalf gave a morose, accepting nod that Bilbo was relieved to see. "Well, off with you then. And for goodness sake, be careful."

Bilbo's lip quirked up at his old friend.

"How offending. I'm always careful." He stated lightly, earning a small smile in return.

With that, the hobbit bolted off in a brisk pace without looking back, slipping on the ring as he did so and vanishing without a trace.

**-A-**

Thorin's lips went dry when the dragon's roar shook his very bones, rocks trembling underfoot at the terrible sound.

Nonononono. It couldn't be. That was impossible. Impossible!

Whirling his head around almost desperately, he narrowed his eyes to the battlefield and yes! There! He could see the beast and its lithe body crushing soldiers underfoot. Whether they were dwarves or orcs or even elves, he couldn't be sure.

"What in Mahal's name?" Dwalin gasped next to him, face incredibly pale. "I thought the beast was dead."

"Well clearly, he's not." Thorin retorted back, mind spiraling and body feeling out of synch. He thought he was done with it all. It was over, damn it! The greatest threat to his quest to take back his home and it turns out the worm wasn't even dead.

All thoughts of the dragon swooped out of mind though when Azog appeared above him, hands wrangling Fíli's hair as he literally dragged the young dwarf near the edge of the high tower.

Thorin's heart stopped at the sight, breathe hitching in his throat.

The pale orc grinned as he held the back of his nephew's shirt, guttural words of Black Speech gurgling out of his disgusting mouth.

Fíli screamed out to run and just when Azog raised his arm to stab the dwarf's back, something stopped him.

The sound of a dragon's roar.

Azog's eyes went wide with startlement, his usually smug expression faltering in the face of the terrible sound coming alarmingly close.

All hell broke loose.

Smaug, the crimson fire-drake with eyes of gold, hovered over the tower where the pale orc stood and knocked his tail against the structure, smashing the crumbling building structure and causing everything to fall. Thorin stepped forward with a gasp when Fíli fell too, Dwalin staying steadfast at his side, steady hands gripping the battle ax with easy practice. His nephew managed to grab hold of one of the ledges before slipping and tumbling to the faraway ground.

For one heart-stopping second as the young dwarf laid motionless on the snowy ground, Thorin thought with wild despair that the blonde didn't survive the fall.

And promptly staggered in breathtaking relief when Fíli shifted and most audibly groaned in pain, the large rocks miraculously not have fallen on top of him.

Thorin didn't even hesitate to climb down the steps, protective anxiety at the thought of either of his nephews getting hurt from the building decimation banishing any thought of killing Azog. He didn't even notice that Dwalin wasn't behind him, unknowingly dealing with the pests known as goblins.

"KILI! FILI!" he barked out, coughing a bit when the dust of rubble hit his nose. Waving it off, his eyes searched urgently for the young dwarves.

"Uncle!"

Thorin snapped his head around to see a completely unharmed Kíli holding up a grimacing Fíli towards him in a half-limping, half-walking pace.

Already, Thorin could see the fractured rib Fíli was pressing against the palm of his hands and the broken leg he was dragging behind.

But he was alive.

Thank the Halls of his Forefathers for that.

Immediately, the three wrapped around each other in a tight embrace, shaking but whole and so very warm. Thorin mentally checked over their wounds just to make sure his assessment was correct and felt fervently grateful at the fact they didn't have any life-threatening injuries.

Letting go of them, he sharply noticed Fíli subtly wincing at the movement and frowned. There was no way he was going to be able to fight in his condition. With that thought in mind, he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled out a high, clear note that rang in the air.

It only took about a minute for one of the bucking rams to appear before him, hooves clobbering over the stone floors with rearing legs.

Normally, Thorin hated riding animals. He didn't like how he wasn't in control of where he was going, that he had to depend on a type of transportation that had a mind of his own. He had barely withheld his displeasure at riding the ponies before reaching Rivendell, much to Balin and Dwalin's collective amusement. But sometimes, speed was of the essence, such as now.

Clamping a hand over Fíli's shoulder, he jerked his head toward the bucking animal in askance. Immediately catching on to his meaning, Fíli vehemently shook his head.

"No. No! I won't leave you Thorin!"

"Fíli, it's for the best." Thorin tried to say as gently as possible. He felt an odd sense of déjà vu, the situation mirroring how he handled a poisoned Kíli back at Laketown. And just like his brother, resistance met his efforts.

"I'm not going to let you fight without me! Somebody needs to watch your back!" Fíli said furiously.

"Dwalin can do that." Thorin argued back.

"But-"

"Fíli!" Thorin's grasp on the young dwarf's shoulder tightened, his eyes almost pleading. "I almost lost you. I would not be able to bear it if that happened. Please Fíli, go."

Fíli faltered in the face of Thorin's begging tone and startled when Kíli reached out and tugged his brother toward the ram, face uncharacteristically serious.

"I'll go with you." Kíli said resolutely. "He's right. You can't fight like this, and you know it."

Fíli hesitated, the logic of his brother's words wavering his stubbornness before he finally caved, sighing before nodding, taking a weight off of Thorin's chest.

So with some reluctance, the two dwarves hopped on the ram carefully and sent him final nods before descending toward Dale, which was relatively safe compared to other parts of the battle.

Watching his nephews disappear from sight among the fog, Thorin looked up when the sound of battle reached his ears. With some trepidation to what he may find, he scaled up the rubbles of the tower, careful of where to place his feet and hands.

When he reached the top, he couldn't help but take a moment to stare at the incomprehensible sight that met him.

Orcs were everywhere, nearly overfilling the icy plain as they all tried to slay the beast. The archers were taking aim, trying and failing to make a dent on the dragon's armor. Azog was at the forefront of the assault, causing the most damage as he agilely dodged Smaug's flames and stomping feet, surprisingly quick for such a heavy orc. His blows slowed Smaug's pace, though the fire-drake wasn't deterred in his task to knock over and burn the orcs to a crisp, screams echoing the chilly air.

Thorin couldn't help but notice how the small, open wound on Smaug's chest was bleeding heavily, the constant movement not helping matters at all. Thorin could take a guess that while Bard was successful in hitting Smaug's weak point, it hadn't been enough.

Whether this was unfortunate or not was suddenly an unsure fact that unsettled Thorin greatly.

The orcs must've heard his approach, because some of the orcs started to head in his direction, screeches overriding his hearing.

Snapping out of his reverie, Thorin gave as good as he got, dodging and letting years of experience lead him. An undercut movement here, a slash across the neck there, a killing machine on autodrive.

Smaug, who must've noticed the commotion and the lessening numbers of his attackers, turned his serpent head in his direction and appeared to freeze, eyes comically wide. It would've been funny if it weren't for the fact he was fighting for his life. The sight of him seemed to trigger something for the dragon, for his actions were newly emboldened and strengthened, eyes narrowing with perplexing determination.

Thorin didn't have time to contemplate the dragon's strange manner as an orc came close to slicing his head off for his inattention, earning a clean stab to the heart for his efforts.

He felt someone shift behind him and just when he was about to retaliate, an arrow appeared out of nowhere, striking the orc straight through the head. Looking at the dead orc at his feet and wary of the idea of an outside party, he swiveled his head around and finally spotted the person responsible for the kill.

It was an elf.

Squinting his eyes, Thorin couldn't help but feel surprised.

Not just any elf. The elven prince.

At the back of his mind, Thorin wondered why the tree-hugger was helping him and dismissed the issue for later pondering. Now was not the time.

The battle was long and arduous, countless orcs trying to backstab him while the pointy-eared poncy slew orc after orc in quick succession with his arrows. Thorin felt some grudging admiration for the elf's skill with the bow. The distance was quite impressive, he had to admit.

Smaug was growing slower by the minute, his wound slowing him down and making him sluggish. On any other day, Thorin would've rejoiced at the idea of the dragon dead. Now, he could only curse his luck.

While the orc numbers were getting smaller, Azog was still going strong, fierce and brutal in his blows at the dragon, deeming the drake as the bigger threat.

Finally, after what felt like eons, Thorin was able to reach Azog who was just about to smash Smaug's leg with his mace. Smaug, too busy with the ten orcs charging at him, didn't notice and actually seemed to be swooning on the spot, tethering and ready to collapse.

Taking the small window of opportunity, Thorin was viciously satisfied by the sound of his sword slicing the pale orc's head off. He found it ironic that Azog's end was the same as his first kill of the Durin line, a fitting end for Azog the Defiler.

The orc foot soldiers, finding their leader dead, crowed out with fear and backed away from him before fleeing for their lives.

Thorin couldn't help but scoff.

Cowards.

Standing there in the abruptly silent, icy wasteland with Azog's head next to him, a wave of tiredness hit Thorin like an avalanche. Fatigue made his shoulders slump, worn down from the emotional and physical exhaustion he's been experiencing the moment he snapped out of his gold madness.

Mahal, he was  _tired._

Steps halting, he managed to reach the edge of the frozen cliff just in time to see eagles swoop in over the battlefield, bashing over orcs like it was easy as breathing.

He couldn't help but huff in irritation.  _Of course_  they had to arrive at the last minute.

Behind him, a huff of strangled breathe interrupted him out of his trance, making him turn just in time to see the great Smaug crumble to the ground, his fall thundering and amazingly not breaking the ice. Thorin managed not to slip off the cliff at the earthquake like action, thank Mahal.

Realization suddenly slammed onto him unforgivingly.

He fought alongside  _Smaug_.

Smaug, who took his home away from him and started this whole mess in the first place. Smaug, who nearly killed him and the Company. Smaug, who burnt Laketown to the ground without mercy.

His hand curled around his sword, anger simmering in his chest. Turning, Thorin stalked toward Smaug the Tremendous, the  _Magnificent_. The  _worm_.

Other than the time Thorin tried to kill Smaug by sinking him in gold – he had thought it was clever, drowning the great beast in the treasure he stole and had claimed as his – he didn't have any chance to really have a good look at the fire-drake who took everything dear away from him.

He remembered great, yellow eyes, sick and putrid and haunting. The dragon had held himself with pride and arrogance, haughty and looking down on him as if he was a bug not worth any attention. His gaze had been full of greed when the statue of Thrór stood in front of him, entranced by the gold.

Now though, Thorin could find none of that. He stood nearly a foot away from the dragon's face and the beast wasn't even bothering to get up or attack him. The weariness Thorin felt in his very bones reflected off of him in Smaug, the dragon's eyelids heavy and his breathing slow. There was no smugness, no hatred evident on Smaug's face. In fact, he was abnormally calm, resigned even, as if he knew what fate Thorin was going to put upon him.

It was that alone that stayed Thorin's hand.

Something was not right. Nothing was making sense anymore.

"Why did you help me?" were Thorin's first words, instead of the righteous rage that was burning through his veins because damn it, he wanted to  _know._

Smaug gave a large, tremendous sigh, chest exhaling deeply.

"I've forgotten how impatient you dwarves can be." The dragon muttered, mouth twisting in what resembled a wry smile. His deep voice was almost soft, so unlike the bellows Thorin was used to hearing from the fire-drake.

Thorin gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on his sword.

"Answer the question,  _worm_ , before I slay you now."

"Why don't you?" Smaug narrowed his golden eyes piercingly. He took no notice to the insult that had previously sent him raging in the throne room like before. "I took your home, your throne. Why hesitate to execute me?"

Thorin resisted the urge to do exactly that. He had the odd feeling that Smaug was goading him now, like he  _wants_  Thorin to kill him. The conclusion just made Thorin dig in his heels even more on this matter. He wasn't about to leave without getting some answers. And nobody can outlast a dwarf in stubbornness.

Well, except a certain hobbit burglar.

"You're dying anyway." Thorin said, intentionally being dismissal. "And I'm not leaving until I have some answers."

Smaug eyed him before closing his eyes, looking almost pained by his words.

"You wouldn't like the answer."

"Let me be the judge of that  _snake_." Thorin spat out.

"Your insults are astonishingly clever." Smaug retorted dryly. "All hale the wit of King Under the Mountain."

Just when Thorin was going to foregone the notion of keeping the filthy drake alive, the last person he expected suddenly interjected his murderous musings.

"Thorin!"

Thorin and Smaug looked to where the voice came from – Smaug more painstakingly than the other – and found themselves looking at a rather harried hobbit.

Thorin's countenance immediately lightened up at the sight of the company's burglar, the relief of seeing him unharmed heady.

"Bilbo!" he breathed out, smiling warmly. Bilbo gave him a smile back in return, though his eyes had a frantic gleam in it when he spotted the dying dragon.

"Thorin, why isn't Smaug, you know, dead?" Bilbo asked bluntly. Thorin couldn't help but feel somewhat amused by how straightforward the hobbit was being. Out of all the members of the company, Bilbo had always been ready to question him, making him actually think whether what he was doing was wrong or right. The reminder of how they had ended in bad terms filled Thorin with remorse, guilt crushing his chest. He could still feel his hands wrap around Bilbo's throat and felt the urge to vomit just from the thought of that memory.

Smaug was staring at Bilbo intently, his eyes lighting up with recognition. Thorin instantly tensed at the look, protective instinct spiking.

" _You_  were the keeper of the arkenstone." Smaug said wonderingly, not sounding mad at all. Bilbo looked utterly baffled by the odd words and looked toward Thorin helplessly who was just as lost.  _That's_  what Smaug was focusing on?

"Uhhh... Yes?" Bilbo managed to say, flummoxed. Smaug grinned, the expression creepily friendly and strangely thankful.

"I thank you, Bilbo, for doing what you did. You have done a greater service than you ever realize." The fire-drake said formally, almost  _respectfully_  if he was completely honest. If Bilbo was stunned before, he was downright dumbfounded now, jaw unhinged in a rather unflattering manner. Thorin was pretty sure he was doing the same.

Bilbo, to his credit, got a hold of himself quite quickly, snapping his jaw shut and clearing his throat rather loudly in awkward embarrassment.

"Um, thank you... I think." Bilbo muttered out, scratching the back of his curly head with puzzlement. Smaug hummed in response and minutely winced, startling Thorin. He had almost forgotten all about the injury.

"Thorin Oakenshield!" Thorin turned around to be faced with a fuming elf prince who had his bow strung and ready to shoot.

The dwarf stomped down the impulse to throw up his arms in exasperation.

Will he never get a moment of peace from these blasted elves?!

"Stop!" Surprisingly, it was Bilbo who stood between the elf and the fallen dragon, face fierce. On anyone else, it might've looked threatening, but on the hobbit it just made him look fairly adorable. "Legolas, stop right now! Enough fighting for heaven's sake!"

The elf prince – Legolas – looked taken aback by the hobbit's interruption, his grip faltering as confusion settled in. He shook out of it though and got back into ready stance.

"Halfling, stand back. The dragon is still alive." Legolas ordered, face hard.

Bilbo huffed, sounding annoyed. "Yes, I'm quite aware of that, thank you very much. But as you can see, he can't hurt anyone and isn't going anywhere anytime soon, so put down your weapon this instant!" Bilbo paused to glance uncertainly at Smaug who looked incredibly amused. "You-You're not going anywhere, right?"

Smaug actually had the audacity to snort, as if his life wasn't being threatened by a highly skilled elf.

"No, I do not think so Master Bilbo." He responded. Bilbo gave a sharp nod and swerved his head around to give the elf a pointed look that resembled a parent scolding a naughty child.

"There, you see? All taken care of."

Thorin snorted at the blithe manner the hobbit was handling the situation. Taken care of indeed.

It was in that very moment when Gandalf the Grey arrived, storming towards them as if he owned everything he walked on, pointed hat making him taller than he already was, damn the man.

By this point, Thorin was ready to throw in the towel and call it a day. He can't take any more confrontations, he just can't.

"Bilbo Baggins!" the wizard called out, relief making the old man smile warmly at the shorter being.

Bilbo grinned right back.

"You're late!" Bilbo said. "Like always."

Gandalf huffed and was just about to probably deny such a claim when he suddenly stopped, just  _stopped_ , right where he was standing. His eyes were fixated on Smaug and for the first time since Thorin has met the wizard, Gandalf looked absolutely speechless, shock overwhelming the old man's expression.

Smaug didn't look nearly as surprised, though he did tense when their eyes locked, stilling completely.

" _You_ -" Gandalf choked out, seeming to age a thousand more years in that instant. Smaug closed his eyes, breaking the staring contest, as if bracing himself.

"Me." The dragon said grimly.

Gandalf gave a great cry, shoving past Legolas who looked unnerved by Gandalf's reaction, until the wizard and the dragon was face to face, inches close as Gandalf shakily laid a hand on Smaug's large snout.

"You fool. You poor,  _poor_  fool." Thorin was stunned to hear such grief from the usually unflappable wizard, a torrential amount of emotions layering the old man's tone.

"I know." The dragon murmured. " _I know_."

They stayed like that for a long moment and Thorin had just  _had it_.

"WHAT IN BLAZES IS GOING ON?!" he roared out, snapping and temper flailing. It's been a long, confusing, draining day, and he just wanted to get this over with and sleep forever if he could.

 _"_ _Hold your temper, Thorin Oakenshield!"_  Gandalf was suddenly looking at him, eyes storming and ancient and all-powerful, shadows growing larger by the second. And like that, the moment was over and Gandalf the Grey was present once again, looking wearier than Thorin has ever seen from him.

"All will be explained at a later date. Not. Now." The wizard turned to face Smaug, who didn't look at all affected by Gandalf's performance. The wizard huffed and gave the fire-drake a stern look.

"We must get you to a healer at once. Change forms now." Gandalf commanded.

Thorin blinked.

Change forms?

Smaug glared right back, defiant.

"I will not." His eyes flickered towards him before sliding back to Gandalf. "Not with them here."

"Oh for heavens sake, Thorin deserves an explanation, as do I for that matter." Smaug actually winced at this, his eyes averting now. Gandalf scowled.

"Curse the stubbornness of dwarves and dragons alike!" Gandalf swore. "You will heed me on this matter. If you do not, I will speak your name to the Lady Galadriel."

Smaug actually blanched at this – or close to blanching, it's harder to read expressions off of the dragon – and went quiet, as if weighing his options. Finally, the dragon gave a great heave of breathe and shot the smug wizard with one last glare.

"I will not be held responsible for what happens next." The dragon growled. Smaug closed his eyes, scaly face wrinkling in creases as if concentrating hard on something before a great shudder shook his whole body.

And right before Thorin's very eyes, the dragon began to  _shift._

The sound of bones cracking filled the air, Smaug curving his head inwards as scales retreated into his skin until pink flesh replaced it, his body growing smaller and smaller. Claws retracted, feet and hands became slighter and less wide. The face was the strangest part of the transformation, teeth becoming less sharp and the color red disappearing to be replaced by tan skin. His nose was going inward, and black silky hair grew from the scalp.

Thorin watched with a gaping mouth as the tremendous dragon transitioned into, without a doubt, a man.

A naked man.

Bilbo fainted on the spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review on the way out!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s official. I am obsessed with the Hobbit. And thank you for all your support and I hope you enjoy! Smaug’s backstory will be explained more clearly, though it’s going to take a while.

“Explain.”

Thranduil’s voice was absolutely frigid and deceptively emotionless. Despite the elf’s outward coolness, Thorin could definitely detect the storming rage that vibrated the king’s throat through clenched teeth. The elfking’s knuckles were white as he clenched onto his deadly dao swords hilts, barely shaking as if repressing the urge to cut down the now dressed, apparently shapeshifting dragon-man before him.

For once, Thorin was in complete agreement with this short demand.

After Bilbo had crumbled into a dead faint – not that Thorin could blame him unlike the first time when the hobbit had the read the incineration part of his contract (honestly, Thorin should’ve scolded Bofur for his rather ill-timed joke considering they had been trying to recruit, not scare away, their burglar) – Gandalf had held off any questions Thorin and the elf prince held for him. An action that would’ve irritated Thorin more if it weren’t for the pricless, outraged expression that had befallen on the tree-hugger’s face.

Smaug – the dragon, man, whatever the hell he really was – had been quiet during the shouting fest that had broken out between the three different races until finally sighing and giving Gandalf a withering look before commenting how he really didn’t want to die from blood loss, thank you very much.

If the situation hadn’t been so surreal and tense, Thorin would’ve been tempted to laugh at the peeved look Gandalf sent back to the dragon-man before huffing in disgruntlement and defeat. The wizard had then fussily covered the dragon with his own large, grey cloak before supporting the man by the shoulders. Though it probably would’ve been easier to carry Smaug, the wizard seemed to know the dragon well enough to be aware of how against Smaug would be to the idea.

It truly begged the question how Gandalf knew Smaug in the first place.

Legolas offered to carry Bilbo the entire trek, something Thorin had been ready to protest against immediately. But then, he remembered his own wounds and tiredness and how stupid it would be to deny the elf’s help, no matter how ambiguous it was. So he swallowed down his pride and stayed silent, an action that prompted a raised eyebrow from the infuriating wizard.

Oh if only Bilbo could see him now.

It had taken them a while, but they had made it to the elven camp where dwarves, elves, and men had intermixed with each other to heal the wounded and bury the dead. The tension between races had all but dissipated, bad blood forgotten as all tried to help the other without discrimination.

Much to Thorin’s irritation, the elves nearly flooded them as they fervently checked the elf prince’s and, to his shock, his own injuries along with Smaug’s and Bilbo’s.

Legolas had barely been injured, a bitter thought considering the elf had mainly stayed away from the heavy fighting and instead shot his enemies from afar. Thorin, though thoroughly exhausted, hadn’t been majorly injured anywhere except for a few lucky nicks that managed to catch his sides and arms, blood oozing slowly to the floor. Bilbo had a minor concussion and was otherwise unharmed, a relieving thought that made Thorin sag in reprieve.

Smaug was the most heavily injured in the group, the wound on his used-to-be giant chest transferring near his heart, close but not quite hitting the mark. Thorin still was uncertain whether or not this was a good thing.

The elven healers had given Smaug a few curious looks, clearly not knowing who he was, but still dragged the dragon-man back to one of the back tents, shrugging off their doubts at the moment. Another elf carefully carried Bilbo in his arms before carrying him away as well, leaving the wizard, dwarf, and elf behind, dismissing them at the moment seeing how they weren’t nearly as injured as other people probably were.

Thranduil and the she-elf were the first to find them, the elvenking for once looking just as bloody and tired as the rest of the mortals surrounding him, plainly just as exhausted as Thorin felt. The she-elf close to the king’s side looked fine, her fiery green eyes filled with overwhelming relief when she saw Legolas beside him looking otherwise undamaged.

Thorin, too tired and confused over the recent events he had experienced, merely gave a curt nod toward Thranduil. Now really was not the time to start something with the stuck up king. The thought of his nephews had then suddenly slammed onto him like a tidal wave the moment he stepped foot into the camp.

Somehow, someway, Thranduil must’ve found something in his eyes because he merely nodded back before idly noting how it seemed the whole dwarven Company has survived after all.

Thorin nearly went on his knees at the admission.

The _whole_ Company. If Thranduil wasn’t lying, then that meant Fíli and Kíli and everyone were alive. Nobody died. He wasn’t responsible for anyone’s deaths.

Thank Mahal that was the case.

The five silently directed themselves to the tent the hobbit and dragon-man went into. By the time they reached there, the healers had already set up Bilbo and Smaug the best they can and literally pounced when they came in their line of sight now that the more seriously injured patients were taken care of.

The elves accosted him with bandages and stitches and cleaned his wounds meticulously. Thorin grudgingly admitted he was impressed by how efficient and time-saving the elven healers worked, movements fluid and quick without wasting a moment.

A few fussing hours passed this way and Bilbo awoke with a start, bewildered by the change of location and groggy from the impromptu fainting spell. Smaug had been awake the entire process, amber eyes always watchful as if just waiting for inevitable betrayal.

After it was clear that all the patients were otherwise not waiting on their deathbeds, Thranduil all but ordered Legolas to enlighten him on what exactly happened at Ravenhill. Thorin was rather surprised by the fact Thranduil didn’t demand this the moment he laid eyes on the odd group and concluded it was because the king probably wanted his son to be fully rested before doing so.

The elven prince smoothly retold the story from his perspective. He said he had told the she-elf, Tauriel, to wait at the camp in case something happened. The red head had snorted at that part, eyes accusing.

“The only reason I did was because you are unfortunately more bullheadedly stubborn then I, my prince.”

“I beg to differ, for I can only say the same to you.” Legolas retorted back mildly.

Tauriel heavily rolled her eyes in a rather un-elf like manner.

“Oh shut up you pompous blockhead.”

“Silence.” Thranduil said sharply. “Tauriel, you may take your leave.”

Tauriel’s mouth thinned, worked up and clearly displeased but obeying in the end. Not, however, before shooting a scathing glare towards Legolas that made the elven prince wince.

Despite himself, Thorin couldn’t help but take an instant like to her.

Anyone who was willing to talk back to the arrogant Thranduil or his son was okay in his books.

Legolas continued to explain how he had found Thorin fighting against the orcs but then abruptly stopped, eyes inevitably swiveling toward where Smaug was, an act Thranduil caught immediately.

During the conversation, Smaug had managed to sit up from where he had been previously laying, arms holding him up and careful to not twist his body and worsen his injury.

Smaug had sighed, running a hand through his raven hair that was strewn with silver from age. There were lines on his rather handsome face baring sharp cheekbones and a carefully crafted stance which displayed a deadliness that remarkably reminded Thorin of Smaug in his dragon form. If there were any doubt the man really was Smaug, it had all but disappeared in Thorin’s mind after that display of subtle, threatening power.

It was strange. If Thorin had met this strange dragon-man on the streets on a normal day, the dwarven king would’ve labeled the man as someone strong and just, an air of confidence and nobleness surrounding him that was hard to come by these days. He had no idea what to make of this observation and narrowed his eyes. Other than Smaug’s outward appearance that disconcertingly reminded Thorin of Smaug in his other shape, his personality was different as night and day from what Thorin has first seen.

However, he wasn’t going to underestimate this-this _being_ so easily, no matter what reassurances Gandalf would give him.

“And this is where I come in.” Smaug had interjected, a wry smile on his lips that belied a dread Thorin didn’t understand at the time. “You may know me as Smaug, your elven highness.”

And that’s when they were now, Thranduil’s face pale with shock at the news and spitting out one word with a wild fury that startled everyone in the room except Gandalf.

Before Smaug could say anything more, Gandalf smoothly intercepted before he could, face grave and serious in a manner that was rarely seen.

“Thranduil, you must calm down before-”

“Before _what_?” Thranduil hissed, expression frenzied and ready to kill. Distantly, Thorin noticed the growing alarm on Legolas’s face at his father’s rather vehement behavior. “Before I skewer you where you stand because you clearly seem in leagues with this _beast?_ Not to mention you _lied_ about the drakes’ true abilities to basically _everyone_ including the High Elves.

“It was not my secret to tell.” Gandalf said sharply.

“It was when we were in war _Mithrandir_. They could’ve used this ability to spy and betray our side at any given opportunity.”

“What are you talking about?” Thorin grouched out. He was sick and tired of being left out of the loop all the time.

Gandalf’s face shifted into a grim expression.

“In the first war, the dragons split sides though the evil overrode the good. It was never mentioned in history how the dragons fought for middle earth’s survival. The Queen, Ishlava, did not want future generations to know about the drakes’ rather bloody past and thought it best to leave it there. It had been her last order before she died.

“By the time the war ended, the dragons’ population were small and scattered, some heading towards the North to hide and some causing mischief and trouble elsewhere. Most of the dragons that has survived are exiles who had deserted and left others to die in their place during the war. As for possible betrayals...”

“It’s not possible.” Smaug finally interrupted, voice stony. Thranduil whirled around and shot the dragon a look of utter _hate_ that made Thorin involuntarily shudder. Smaug didn’t seem at all affected in comparison.

“Because the dragons that did turn to Sauron’s side could not shapeshift back into their other forms, as they have become emotionally and mentally unbalanced. And a dragon can only shift one other form in their entire lives.” Smaug revealed evenly.

“So this shapeshifting ability is natural?” Thorin blurted out, twitching slightly when everyone’s attention automatically turned towards him.

Smaug’s eyes softened just a bit, the amber color melting into twin golden, radiant suns. Thorin was flat out bewildered by the reaction.

What in Mahal’s name?

“Yes, it is an ability every dragon has since birth.” Smaug’s tone was impossibly soft and patient, as if he was used to teaching someone younger than himself yet wasn’t condescending about it. It made Thorin wonder how old Smaug was in the first place. “At a young age, we are able to transform into many things, animals and two-leggers both. When we reach a certain age, we choose which form would stabilize ourselves best in terms of temperament and abilities and stick to our decision for life. Once we choose, we cannot change our minds.”

“This is true.” Gandalf confirmed, trying to dispel the obviously skeptical looks the group was sending Smaug’s way. “They are born with the ability. No tricks, no outside magic from any dark force or me.”

“That does not change the fact he is guilty for being the catalyst of the battle that has taken place here. If he had not taken the mountain, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place.” Thranduil stated with absolute derision.

The reminder jolted Thorin into action, the fact slapping at him in the face.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him that made his whole body go stone cold.

“You _knew_.” Suddenly, things were making a lot more sense in a horrible way. “You _knew_ Smaug had taken the mountain.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows contorted with confusion while Smaug seemed to tense as he sensed the incoming explosion about to erupt.

“Would you care to elabora-”

“You knew Smaug _before_ the quest! This was your real reason coming with us! You were trying to find _him!_ ” Thorin roared, jabbing a finger in the _worm’s_ direction. He knew there had been something suspicious about Gandalf’s insistence and urgency to take upon this quest. He recalled the worried lines that had grown during the long journey the closer they got to Erebor, face troubled and perplexingly anxious when he thought nobody was looking.

At the time, Thorin had dismissed it as nerves everyone in the Company had been feeling. After all, they were going to face a terrible, tyrannical dragon when- _if_ they reach their destination. Now, Thorin could only curse at himself for thinking this way. Of course there would be more to it than that.

Gandalf sighed warily, the sound only confirming Thorin’s conclusion in his mind, sparking a sense of betrayal in his chest. Despite whatever spats had happened between them, Thorin had at least thought of Gandalf as an ally he could trust. Clearly, he had been wrong.

_Like how you trusted Bilbo who went behind your back?_

That was different, Thorin thought firmly to himself, dismissing the traitorous voice immediately. The hobbit had only been trying to help. It wasn’t his fault circumstances forced him to do so, considering Thorin had been ensnared by gold sickness at the time-

Wait a minute. Thorin’s heart stopped as another thought slammed into him.

The gold sickness. He had tried to avoid thinking about it, but this he couldn’t ignore.

Some dwarves had called gold sickness as dragon sickness, since dragons were fond of gold and jewels even more than dwarves.

Did, did Smaug’s greed for gold – for what other reason would the dragon have taken the mountain? – rub off of him somehow? Was that why he fell? Did that mean him falling wasn’t completely his own fault?

A part of him wanted to latch onto this explanation like a lifeline. He wanted to put all the blame on the dragon’s blameworthy shoulders and wash his hands off this whole business.

But... No, he couldn’t be hasty.

Because if he was wrong, he would be risking everyone around him if he stopped being careful over the possibility of being lulled into drowning madness all over again.

Besides, his grandfather and father had fallen, and both had never met any dragons before. It was all their own doing they had spiraled into insanity.

“Thorin,” Thorin’s attention drew toward the dragon-man’s smoldering, determined eyes that practically pleaded for him to listen. “Gandalf did not know it was specifically me who took the mountain. I,” he swallowed, looking reluctant to continue but doing so anyway. “I went by a different name when I knew the wizard. Smaug is merely an alias I used over these past decades.”

An alias. All this time, the feared name Smaug was only a fake name in the end.

For some reason, the thought made Thorin want to laugh hysterically at this odd piece of trivia.

“Actually, I suspected.” Gandalf relented gravely, grimacing. Everyone turned to look at him at his admission. “The dwarves’ description on Smaug’s appearance made me suspect it was Smaug. I wanted to confirm if it was truly him or not. I wanted to confirm whether or not if he had fallen and sided with Sauron since our last meeting.”

For just a second, Smaug’s eyes darkened with a hatred Thranduil could never match before he closed them, taking a deep breath as he did so.

Bilbo chose this moment to finally pipe up, his scholarly mind probably overriding any fear he felt at the moment.

“Mr. Smaug,” Smaug opened his eyes, darkness abating momentarily as he looked bemused by the sudden politeness the hobbit was directing at him though he didn’t comment, waiting for Bilbo to continue. “if what you say about dragons being unable to shapeshift if they side with Sauron is true, then doesn’t that mean you have never fallen, even now?”

A glint of surprise reflected in those amber orbs at the shrewd conclusion. For a glimmer of a second, he actually looked impressed and just a bit grateful.

“You’re right, Master Baggins.” Smaug’s voice was quiet but filled with iron conviction that destroyed all doubt in its path. “I have never and will never follow that piece of _filth_.”

“Right.” Bilbo exhaled before smiling shakily, a bit of triumph on his face. “Well, at least we can rule out you being _completely_ evil.”

Smaug barked out a laugh at that, some of the weariness cloaking him lifting off his shoulders at the action.

“Aye, a very relieving thought I’m sure.” Smaug said, looking marginally more relaxed. Thorin was struck by the odd use of dwarven agreement the dragon used but dismissed it as something to think about later.

Thranduil did not look pleased.

“Just because he does not follow Sauron doesn’t mean he is not capable of great evil the rest of his kind is so fond of committing.”

Smaug smirked, the expression bloodthirsty. His canine teeth, Thorin couldn’t help but note, were sharper than a normal man’s.

“My kind, as you so kindly put it, does not take kindly to those who insult them. I happen to be one of those people.”

“Of course you are. You’re nothing but a beast that should be put down as one would do to a dog, rabid and jumping into fights with every given opportunity.”

 _“That is enough.”_ Gandalf thundered out, shadows growing behind him menacingly as the candles dimmed and the air crackled with tension. “Now, Thranduil and Thorin, there will be time to explain the situation on a late date that I’m sure Smaug is more than willing to share later.”

Smaug rolled his eyes at this but didn’t argue, able to tell when to not fight a losing battle. His shoulders loosened as all the fight rising at Thranduil’s insults depleted in seconds.

Gandalf eyeballed to the ceiling, as if praying for patience from Mahal himself. Thorin felt a bit affronted at this since he himself should be having the right to do so more than the wizard.

“Thorin,” the king straightened when the wizard’s attention directed towards him, the old twinkle in his eyes now returning with arguments and explanations momentarily halting for now. “I’m sure you would like to see your nephews and your Company again. We can discuss all this at a later date after much needed rest.”

All thoughts of questioning Smaug flew out the window at the prospect of checking up on his nephews and holding them close in his solid arms again.

So with only an annoyed grunt, Thorin managed to get off the bed before leaving to follow the wizard, his injuries slowing down his pace.

He didn’t leave, however, before turning to look back at Bilbo to give him a low bow that the hobbit well-deserved, hoping the hobbit would understand just how relieved and grateful he was to see him alive and well. Bilbo hesitantly bobbed his head back, tentative but clearly unsure considering the fact Thorin had tried to kill him only hours before.

Thorin mentally shook his head at this, heart dropping. They really needed to talk later. The dwarven king was going to do whatever necessary to earn back the hobbit’s forgiveness if it was the last thing he does. And if Bilbo doesn’t accept...

Well, Thorin wouldn’t blame him in the slightest.

Turning, Thorin gave Thranduil and prince Legolas a barely courteous nod due to forced politeness. They were unfortunately going to be future neighbors after Erebor becomes habitable again and making bad relations was a mistake he was not willing to repeat. As much as Thorin hated to admit it, the elves had pulled through in the battle and Thorin could to a degree respect that.

Not that he’ll ever forgive Thranduil for abandoning them the first time around but still. This was a start.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at the gesture but nevertheless returned it. Thorin hoped this was a sign the elfking was willing to the idea as well.

Finally, Thorin turned to face Smaug who was staring at him with unreadable, bright eyes that did not hold any malice whatsoever.

This wasn’t the end of their discussion, Thorin knew. He will get his answers even if it meant prying the dragon piece by piece if he had to.

To be honest, he still wasn’t sure why he was allowing Smaug to live for a moment longer.

Because really, if anyone should be pointing fingers and raging like Thranduil had shockingly done minutes ago, shouldn’t it be him? Smaug had taken the mountain and left the dwarves of Erebor homeless for nearly a hundred years. And though Thorin loathed to admit it, the tree-hugger was right. This whole mess all originated from Smaug. By every right, Thorin should still be hating the dragon in front of him for taking away everything he ever held dear to him in his life.

And yet...

Thorin had caught the flash of wretched shame and anguish that passed the dragon-man’s face when Thranduil had condemned him, head lowered as if waiting for his execution, not refuting the elf’s words at all. He looked like a dead man walking, literally and figuratively in every way.

And that, for some reason, did not sit well with Thorin at all. The feeling that something was not quite right, that there was a story to be told here, still niggled his brain like an itch he couldn’t get rid of.

So instead of killing the contradicting monster where he stood, Thorin turned and walked away, praying he wasn’t making a huge mistake while doing so.

**-A-**

_“Get out.”_ Thranduil ordered smoothly to Smaug the moment Gandalf and Bilbo left.

After Gandalf and the dwarf king Thorin left the room, Thranduil called the healers to take Bilbo into a separate tent, which left the three alone in the tent. He said he wanted to discuss some matter with the human, which had earned him a sharp look from the hobbit along with a blistering warning not to do anything to the dragon under a hushed whisper, something that amused Legolas to no ends.

The little Halfling was refreshingly ballsy. He reminded Legolas of Tauriel on a bad day, a scary thought indeed.

Legolas tried not to show how unnerved he was by his father’s uncharacteristic erratic actions and behavior since the moment Smaug revealed himself to what he truly was. Smaug must’ve seen something on his own face though, a thought that irritated him to no ends, and simply smiled at the elfking blandly.

“As much as I’d like to, I can’t. If I leave, Gandalf would tear Middle-Earth apart trying to find me and I can’t have that resting on my conscience.”

“You have a conscience?” Thranduil sneered. “You have quite an interesting way of showing it. You, a fire drake, are not capable of anything but mass destruction and desolation. You don’t have a _heart._ ”

For some reason Legolas wasn’t privy of, Thranduil emphasized the last word as if it meant something more to the dragon, something Legolas had no clue of knowing.

Smaug’s eyes turned into slits. Suddenly, he looked every bit the predator he truly was underneath his human skin.

“Says the king who abandoned an entire race to starvation when I took Erebor from their grasp.” Smaug _snarled._

Thranduil’s face smoothed into apathy, though Legolas alone could see the hint of bewilderment in his father’s crystal blue eyes.

“You are angry.” _On the dwarves behalf_ , was the unspoken added observation.

Though the elfking said it as a statement, it was clearly a question to anyone who listened closely.

Smaug’s eyes flashed.

“I saw you on top of that hill with an entire army ready at your command. While I can understand why you didn’t attack – don’t think I haven’t noticed that enchantment you have on your face – what I don’t understand is why you didn’t supply the dwarves or at least gave them a place to stay for a couple of days. Are _you_ truly that _heartless_ to have left the dwarves, even the damn _children_ , to die?”

Thranduil’s face cooled several degrees at the accusation. Legolas shifted where he stood, feeling a pang of regret at the unfortunately true fact the dragon had spouted out.

When the dwarves lost Erebor, Thranduil had refused to give any aid to the dwarves. Though, to be fair, none of them had asked and the elves left them be. Why should they help when the dwarves clearly didn’t want any? Besides, it was the dwarves own fault for bringing the dragon to them.

At least, that’s what Legolas has always believed until facing said dragon in front of him.

Despite himself, Legolas couldn’t help but imagine those children paying for the mistakes of their king. The very thought was horrifying and left the elven prince feeling very uncomfortable. Smaug’s pointed glare really didn’t make things any better.

“You’re lucky the dwarf left when he did.” Thranduil said in a deceptively soft tone. “He would’ve killed you on the spot if he heard you. This is rich considering the fact you took the dwarves’ home in the first place.”

Smaug’s eyes hardened, face expressionless and not revealing any of the previous anger he had portrayed before.

“I have my reasons why I did what I did.”

Legolas wondered what they could possibly be. From the shuttered out, resolute expression on the dragon’s face however, wrestling the reason out of him would be impossible.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Smaug’s stubborn silence and instead swiftly turned to leave, robes sweeping sinuously even on the dirty ground.

“Come Legolas. There is much work to be done in the camp.”

Thranduil glanced at Smaug before directly speaking to him.

“I’ll be leaving guards behind. If you try anything, I have every right to kill you. _Understood_?” the elvenking’s voice lilted at the end, promising pain and death if disobeyed. Smaug flashed a ferocious smirk back.

“Chrystal.” His tone practically oozed false sincerity that it was almost sickening to hear.

Thranduil sneered and finally stepped out, Legolas right at his heels. Immediately, the entrance was covered by ten elven, mobile soldiers that were unscathed from the battle.

Legolas couldn’t help but think it would take a hell lot more troops to kill a dragon.

He didn’t voice this out loud.

At the back of his mind, he had a gut feeling that while the battle was over, this was only just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review on the way out!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suddenly got inspiration and wrote all this in one go. I hope you enjoy! Also, this has a flashback of sorts, and all will be explained at a later date. Flashback takes place before Thorin, before even Thror. Look through wiki and search the name. It’ll be there.

_There was a battle. Because all great quests wouldn’t be complete without one._

_Dwarven warriors fought with vigor against the ambush of orcs that overwhelmed their numbers. Bloody heads rolled against the ground, great axes swinging and poisonous swords cutting through flesh as battle cries rang out from hoarse throats. The dwarves were guarding their leader, whose young face was contorted and fierce, Durin blue eyes blazing as he decimated the enemies’ ranks._

_In any other situation, at any other time, this fight would be considered a skirmish. A minor, irritating inconvenience. But the dwarven warriors were guarding vulnerable citizens of a once great kingdom, all starving and exhausted from their long journey and the conflicts they had to face. It wore down their bones, aching and nearly breaking them under pressure._

_But they were dwarves, enduring and stubborn as stone. Only a great, heavy blow could split them in the middle, and they haven’t reached that point. Not yet._

_They couldn’t afford to._

_The leader sensed it before he saw it. A brushing glance of a sword swinging dangerously to his side. He couldn’t escape it and he cursed under his breathe, trying to dodge and knowing he will fail. He braced himself for impact-_

_-that never came._

_A strangled noise came close to his ear before the body fell to the ground, the orc’s throat stabbed by a slight knife that gleamed under the dying sunlight. It was lodged there, the abomination’s body twitching before becoming still, dark eyes glossy and wide in surprise._

_The raven haired dwarf whipped his head around to the trees that hung above and there he saw him._

_A man, dark hair roughly tied back and hanging on a tree branch, brilliant golden eyes that were richer than any gem’s color gleaming. Without warning, the man jumped down from his high position and he joined the fray, his landing unsettlingly graceful in a way that reminded the dwarf of a slithering predator, lying in wait._

_The other dwarves startled at the intruder’s appearance, along with the orcs. The stranger took advantage of this and did the strangest, un-like man thing the leader has ever seen._

_He hissed._

_It was a long, hair-raising sound full of venom and wild hate directed at the paralyzed orcs who froze in the face of it. Something not unlike fear passed their faces and they baulked. Without hesitation, the orcs turned on their heels and fled, the instinct to run from the bigger predator’s wrath weighing more than their thirst for blood. It was unnerving._

_It was curious._

_The man turned to them, golden eyes seeming to shift to amber in the shadows. The soldiers tensed now that the clearly abnormal being was paying attention to them. Much to the leader’s exasperation, they all huddled around him protectively, effectively trapping him behind the wall of defense._

_Sighing at this, the leader pushed forward, firmly planting himself in front._

_“My king-” Tolchin, one of his more brash guards protested before he gave the fool a hard glare for his slip, daring to argue against him. He still wasn’t used to being in command since he inherited the title, but he did his damn well best to instill his right of power. People doubted his ability to lead due to his young age damn enough._

_Facing the silent, unknown being, he bowed low with diplomatic ease._

_“I thank you for helping in our time of need.” He said formally, mind racing as he tried to figure out exactly what the outsider was. Surely not an elf and definitely not a man. Though with the way the orcs had ran for the hills, the being must be even more dangerous than most._

_It wasn’t a comforting thought._

_The ‘man’ seemed unconcerned by the slight slip the guard made and merely shrugged with a casual indifference the king has only ever seen from the elves. A race who lived so long that mortal affairs and titles mean little to them._

_“No thanks needed.” The man’s voice was startlingly deep, throat rumbling. He frowned, eyes slitting in narrow eyed open suspicion. It was a startlingly honest expression. “What are you doing here? Do you not know how dangerous these parts of the woods are?”_

_“We’re just passing through.” The Durin said cautiously, wary to fully answer. The not-man frowned, a rolling sound rumbling the being’s throat. Without any fanfare, the golden eyed wearer tucked in his knives and jerked his head toward the path they’ve been following._

_“I’ll show you the way.” He tilted his head in a predatory motion that made the hair at the back of the dwarf’s neck stand up. “I want you out of my woods as quickly as possible. You’re gaining too much attention. It’s incredibly troublesome.”_

_The dwarf king stared at this impossible being who stood taller than even the elves, sharper than any blade in both senses and mannerism, and stranger than any wizards he’s ever heard from the stories._

_“Who are you?” The dwarf questioned, cautious yet curious. The man’s amber eyes glanced at the dwarf, gaze unreadable._

_“_____. And you are?”_

_Couple of the dwarves bristled at the man’s bluntness but the dwarf leader in question merely looked thoughtful, shrewd eyes taking in the strange man. After a few moments of deliberation, the dwarf bowed._

_“Thráin, son of Náin, at your service.”_

_The not-man nodded back, face remaining indecipherable._

_“Nicely met, your majesty.”_

**-A-**

“Sire Baggins.”

Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin and rather dirty coat at the silky, formal voice coming from behind. Whirling around, he was met with the sight of the man-dragon-whatever the hell he was- _Smaug_ who was straight-laced as they came. His stature was tall, yet his head was bowed with a perplexing amount of respect smoothing his features. Never in his life would he have thought someone as arrogant as Smaug could be so courteous. The changes were becoming disorienting.

And really, what was _with_ the ridiculous formality to his address? Sire, oh _dear_. What was that even supposed to imply?

They were in front of Smaug’s tent who was the sole occupant of the space, the dragon-man watching him as Bilbo stopped in the middle of his tracks when he heard him.

“Ah,” Bilbo shifted, clearing his throat uncomfortably. After all, they all were trying to kill each other just a few days ago since that bewildering, power-upping conversation that occurred between kings and wizards which he should’ve had no business in. It was all too dramatic for his taste. “Mister Smaug. It’s good to see you about?” he said the last part too uncertainly, and immediately felt horrified for his rudeness.

A flare of amusement sparked in those golden eyes at the title, but other than that, he gave no sign of what he thought of Bilbo’s wariness of him. He looked far too relaxed with everyone glaring at him to be at all real.

“It is.” Smaug nodded his head at him with that bewildering politeness that would match a diplomat’s more than a warrior’s. “I’m glad to see you have recovered as well.” He said sincerely and Bilbo was _so confused_.

“It was just a head wound.” Bilbo replied automatically, not understanding anything. “Very minor injury, considering everybody else’s.”

Smaug hesitated briefly as if he wanted to ask something and Bilbo was tempted to laugh hysterically at the strangeness of this whole encounter. “Yes, I’ve heard. And how is,” he swallowed, piercing gaze shifting agitatedly to the side. “how are the prin-the Durins?”

It took a few seconds for Bilbo to understand who he was referring to.

“Oh!” he blinked, stunned when a glint of something he saw as _concern_ flash in those brilliant unnatural eyes. Windows to the soul, this one. “They’re alright. Fíli and Thorin have exhausted themselves and have a few major injuries but are going to fully recovery. Kíli luckily isn’t hurt anywhere, didn’t get the chance to.” He added a bit dryly because the whole royal family are a bunch of fools who don’t have any self-preservation skills. Luck didn’t begin to cover it.

The end of Smaug’s mouth twitched and Bilbo was surprised to see how much that one action shifted his face, eyes softening into soft sunrays and hard lines easing just a touch. It was remarkable how deceivingly mortal he looked, nothing like the tire brittle being who bristled and guarded himself like he did with his treasure when questioned.

“I see. Thank you.” Smaug said lowly, while Bilbo didn’t see at all. The being straightened and looked him in the eye with his hands clasped behind his back like a nobleman. Everything about him screamed graceful gallantry that shouldn’t be directed towards someone like Bilbo.

“I thank you, Bilbo Baggins, for everything you’ve done. You truly cannot comprehend the depth of gratefulness I feel towards you. If there is anything, _anything_ I could do for you, I will do it.”

_What the hell._

Bilbo stared at this contrary creature who didn’t even have the decency to understand just how vexing his entire existence and words were to the hobbit. And it was driving him mad to not know.

Suddenly, Bilbo was feeling extremely sympathetic for Thorin. It must be a hundred times worse for the dwarf king.

“What for?” Bilbo asked, by this point exasperated. Smaug shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

And that’s when Bilbo just _couldn’t take it_ any longer.

“Why did you help us?” Bilbo blurted out, giving up and asking the one question that mattered. Honestly, it was ridiculous how nobody had asked this last time, basing all judgements on past actions and not focusing on the here and now. So stuck on the past, that they couldn’t pass clear judgement on whether or not the fire drake was a threat.

Smaug shifted his stance and his staggering size became somehow smaller, shoulders hunched and looking so exhausted that it sent a pang of empathy in Bilbo’s heart. Thranduil was immaculate and shining perfection, untouchable and hardened in a regal, majestic manner. Smaug though, Smaug was ashes and brimstone, aged away over the years and on the very urge of spluttering out his own flames, tired to the bone.

 _World-weary_ , Bilbo had thought when he first saw him bleeding out on that icy platform with Thorin threatening to be the drake’s executioner. Absolutely nothing like the venomous tyrant demeanor that Smaug had exhibited in the throne room, like a vengeful spirit haunting somebody else’s chambers. It’s what had given Bilbo pause in the first place, with the feeling not all was what it seemed.

And he was right.

Smaug sighed through his nose, and Bilbo swore he saw a flash of a red scaled dragon doing the same, steam coming out its huge nostrils. The hobbit shivered.

“It doesn’t matter.” Smaug repeated resignedly. A grim smile twisted his face and he never looked more like his dragon-self. “With the elves and the dwarves after my head, nothing can ever matter again.”

Bilbo’s whole body went cold and he swallowed, hard.

“You think they’re going to kill you.”

Smaug let out a coarse laugh, bitter and drier than a drought city.

“I _know_ it.” He shook his head. “Even Gandalf can’t save me now. After all,” and he paused, something wistful and unbearably longing stealing his face and leaving Bilbo buckling.

“After all, _you can’t save someone who doesn’t have anything to live for.”_

A chill of absolute horror ran down Bilbo’s back, leaving his scarred.

 _“No!”_ he yelped, and Smaug jerked out of his daze at the sudden, unexpected response. Seeing the wide-eyed look, Bilbo kept vehemently shaking his head. “No! What is with you people who have to be so bloody _dramatic_ all the time? And did you not just swear that you would pay me back? You can’t do that if you perish! And what you said, that can’t possibly be true. Isn’t there anything that could tether you to this life? Anything at all?”

Smaug stared at him for a long moment before a laugh suddenly exploded out of him, hunching down and clenching his stomach as gasping, slightly worrying hysteric wheezes of pure _laughter_ escaped out of him. Remotely, Bilbo noted how quite a few dwarves and elves that were keeping watch or passing by were giving wary or incredulous looks in Smaug’s direction. But that wasn’t what Bilbo was paying attention to.

Bilbo has never seen him look so animated before and it left him astonished over how _alive_ it made him look. When he finally stopped after a fretful of minutes, Bilbo was startled to realize the dragon-man had little creases near his suddenly grinning mouth.

 _Laugh lines,_ Bilbo thought distantly. How didn’t he notice them?

Smaug shook his head, something like wonder on his face. The bleakness receded and he was grinning away with pointy canine teeth visible. Bilbo realized he wasn’t afraid.

“You are the strangest creature I’ve ever met. How is it possible for someone to be so kind to someone like me? After everything I’ve done?” Smaug’s tone slightly went somber at the end, guilt riddling it. It only convinced Bilbo further that something was amiss. How could this possibly be the same Smaug who ransacked Erebor and razed down Laketown? The very notion was becoming more and more _absurd_.

So Bilbo titled his chin and sniffed with all the fake pompousness of a gentleman hobbit, something he wasn’t quite sure he was anymore. “Well, like every good story, there are two sides. And I, for one, would like to hear yours.”

Smaug shook his head, black hair flickering the side sharply at the action. “It’s not a good story.”

“Probably not.” Bilbo agreed readily. “But I have a feeling it would explain your motivations and actions, so we’ll see about that.”

A flicker of something – hope? Awe? Thankfulness? Who knew by this point – past his face and he ran a hand through his hair anxiously. It was a surprisingly human action.

“I can’t.” Smaug lifted a hand when Bilbo opened his mouth to protest. “You’re not the person who I have to explain all my actions to first. And,” Smaug’s mouth turned into a grim line. “there will be a trial. I will have to put my testament there, and knowing my luck, everyone will be turned against me. Except Gandalf and you now apparently.”

“So we’ll win the trial then. Form a defense.”

Smaug looked at him incredulously. His face was so much more open after Bilbo’s spiel. “And who would believe a monster like me?”

The title he bestowed himself slipped out so easily, like he knew he deserved it and had accepted it long ago. It was damning and made Bilbo see red.

“Thorin.” Quickly seeing the rising protest, Bilbo stopped him with the raise of a hand. He was shocked by his own audacity, but continued on anyway. “You said you need to explain things to him, so explain. Whether he believes you or not is his choice. He may be stubborn but he isn’t, well, he isn’t completely hopeless. I’ll-” Bilbo stuttered, seeing Smaug’s face start to close off at the suggestion. “I’ll be there to calm him down when you tell him.”

Oh _dear_ , oh _help him_.

Smaug, much to Bilbo’s aggravation, seemed to share the dwarves’ stubbornness.

“He won’t like what I have to say. He’ll hate me, or hate himself. I want to spare him of that.”

“That’s for him to decide.” Bilbo said steely. The hobbit and dragon glared at each other, and Bilbo felt unafraid. He wondered when that started to happen. When did he get into the habit of battling out wills with kings and orcs and stop being so afraid of the world?

When he stepped out that door.

Smaug was the one to finally retreat, submitting under Bilbo. There was fear in his eyes and Bilbo wanted to inappropriately laugh, damn manners. Maybe it was because of whatever debt Smaug claimed he needed to pay back to Bilbo. Maybe because Bilbo was just more stubborn and Smaug so much more tired of conflict than those younger than him. But Bilbo would take whatever victory he could get.

“Alright.” Smaug said, voice still strong but so brokenly unsure. “Alright. But, on my own terms. And don’t tell Gandalf.” A hint of wry humor claimed him. “He’ll never stop teasing me if you dare.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Bilbo responded back, equally dry. He knew the wizard well.

Smaug smiled tiredly at him and Bilbo realized with a start and a groan that somehow, someway, he has allied with the great fire drake and terror Smaug.

_Damn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review on the way out! And check out my tumblr site aerialflight. Thank you, and please enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Please review on the way out!


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